Chapter 6: Girls Just Wanna Have Sex

Ethel was waiting behind the counter for him. She was bright-eyed and animated. Bright-eyed and quite literally bushy-tailed.

She almost fell into his arms. Her kiss seemed to have been undergoing some training since last time. There was a lot more tongue in it now. "Come out the back. I made the picnic here, to save time. What's this?" She looked curiously at the paper bag he had handed her.

"A little present. Something you wanted."

She tore it open. "What is it?" She held the bra up, turned it over, this way and that. "A bra?"

"It might fit you. Sally thought it might."

"I don't know how to put it on."

"You'll soon work it out." They went down the steps into the back room of the shop. She was already unbuttoning her dress. "You can show me how it works!"

"It's quite easy. Go into the kitchen and work it out. If Sally could put on a bra when she was twelve, I'm sure a big grown-up girl like you can manage it on your own."

She smiled. "I'll try. What do you say? I'll give it a try?" She started slipping the dress off her shoulders as she went into the kitchen.

The little box of business cards was still on the shelf. Quickly! He helped himself to one, slipping it into his right hand coat pocket. Then he changed his mind. Don't put all your eggs in one basket.

"Russ! Is this right?"

He sighed theatrically. There were things he would rather be doing than helping a busty girl into an N cup bra, but right now, he wasn't sure what they were.

She nearly had it right, but the shoulder straps needed adjustment. Sally at twelve hadn't been as tall as Ethel. He slid the adjustment buckles down and studied the problem. "You'll have to bend forward and lower your breasts into the cups."

She bit her lip at his brutally frank language. "Like this?" Giggle. "I can only get one in at a time."

There was nothing else for it. He lent a helping hand, then positioned the broad shoulder straps, fastened the six hooks. One was starting to pull away from the body band, but it wasn't too tight round Ethel's chest. And the cups were only a little too big for her.

"It feels really odd! How does it look?" She turned to see the mirror, which wasn't big enough to show the whole picture at once. "Goodness me!" Ethel stood with her arms dangling by her sides. She had taken her undervest off, and had lowered the top of her dress so it hung from her hips. Russ helped her get her arms into the short sleeves. It was a much tighter dress now. She could fasten the buttons, but only just. "Oh, my! Look at me!"

Russ was.

"Dare I go out looking like this? I look like ... I don't know what! Like Sally!"

"You look stunning! I'll be proud to be seen with you."

"Do you mean that? You're sweet. Even though I'm horrid and fat."

"Fat? You're perfect. You're the ideal woman!"

She went out into the work room and walked up and down, getting used to the feeling. It couldn't have been easy for her. "I can't see my feet! And this picnic hamper, I can't pick it up with my chest in the way."

"I'll carry it."

"Wait!" She kissed him again in a decidedly friendly manner. "Now, take your coat off. It's not as cold as all that, and you can't drive a car with a great big coat on. Come on, off with it!"

"I don't think I ought to..."

"Off!" She was tugging at the collar insistently. "You can leave it here at the shop, we'll come back for it before you go. There, that's better. We both look really modern now. You in Jean's trousers, me in my bra. Put your cap back on. That's nice!"

"Edward always turns that handle on the front. Are you sure you can drive a car?"

The hamper was securely on the back seat. The car, a black Humber saloon, was parked on the road outside Ethel's parents' house. She had explained that they were away, to his intense relief. Russ hadn't been relishing the prospect of an interview with Ethel's father.

"Maybe if I just turn the wheels straight so they're not pointing into the curb, it will roll downhill. I'll only need to push it a yard or two."

"Push? Edward never pushes it. He just swings the handle. He fiddles around inside first. And under the bonnet thing up at the front."

Things shouldn't be as complicated as this. Russ climbed out reluctantly and wrestled with the bonnet catches. It hinged up from the side. Whatever was underneath bore no more relationship to a car than it did to a grand piano. The first impression was one of an immense empty space. There was presumably an engine, that rusty iron thing down at the bottom, and a big tall radiator with a long, fat rubber hose leading down to the front of the engine. He recognised a fan, some spark plugs, what he assumed was the ignition coil. Which meant this thing here was the carburettor. And this brass thing must be the petrol pump. It had a small lever at the bottom, bright metal as if it was used regularly for some purpose. He gave it a prod, pumped it up and down, and was rewarded by gurgling noises, rather as if a small pigeon had become trapped inside.

Back in the driver's seat, there were levers around the middle of the steering wheel. One of them even said 'Start' on it. Too much to expect. The engine didn't start, but he turned a few knobs in an expert manner, scrambled out and went round to the front. The handle had a nice shiny brass grip to it. It was stiff to turn; heavy, like lumpy treacle, as if heavy bodies inside the engine were getting in the way of the handle.

"Ouch!"

The engine had made an encouraging noise, like a polite cough in church, and his wrist ached where the handle had flown back the other way. Sod this for a game of soldiers. One more try.

"There, I told you Edward never pushed it," she said as he slumped behind the wheel in astonishment, nursing his injured wrist. "Why didn't you just start it in the first place, instead of making all that to-do about it?"

The car was running smoothly now, and even smoother when he fiddled professionally with the controls, got out and closed the bonnet, climbed aboard, and selected a gear.

Not twenty minutes later they were purring satisfactorily down the road at twenty miles per hour. His wrist was on fire from the fourth or fifth attempt at starting the beast, but it seemed on the whole to have forgiven him. In fact, the car seemed almost to be enjoying it, skittering along the bumpy lanes in the general direction of the Downs. It was a fearsome climb, but they chuntered over the summit in top gear, and came to a sighing halt where the countryside spread out in front like a patchwork quilt. Obligingly, the sun came out. All was right with the world so - one imagined - God must be somewhere in His heaven.

A fine winter's day; a gleaming vintage car; a pretty girl with improbably large breasts who was keen to oblige him in any ways she could think of and - with any luck - some he couldn't; and a picnic hamper full of delights. Russ tried not to think of the next few years and what they had in store. For now, he had more than enough to occupy his mind and body.

Ethel might not be quite big enough to overstuff Sally's outsized Junior Miss bra, but Russ's cup was certainly running over.

"Have this last salmon and cucumber sandwich. It will only go to waste." Ethel held the sandwich for him until it disappeared and her fingers followed it into his mouth. "You did that before, remember?"

"With the pie. On our seat. It's still there in 1999, that seat."

"And the market, too?"

"And the market."

"That man selling plates? And the gramophone record stall?"

"All there. The pies aren't so nice today as they used to be ... today."

She took her finger back, kissed it and applied it to his lips again. "I wish I could come with you. You brought Sally, so you're allowed to bring a passenger."

"I told Sally she couldn't come today. I said it was too risky."

"And she said she'd feel safe if she was with you?"

"That's right. She did."

"Girls never say anything original. Please, Russ. Just once."

"I'd be frightened of you getting stuck. How would you manage in 1999, not knowing anything?"

"I'd be safe if I was with you. Have some chocolate."

"They say it's a sex substitute. It's supposed to be good for morale."

"Well, that's all right, then. Morale, I mean. You don't need a sex substitute. I'm here."

"Are you a substitute?"

"No, I'm the real thing."

"Like Coke?"

"Coke's not as good as coal. It burns hotter, so they say, but it's not so cosy."

"What are you talking about?"

"You started it. You should never start anything you can't finish. Come here."

"Come where?"

"In the back seat. There's more room."

"You've hurt your wrist?"

"The car. The starting handle bit me. It did it again when we were up on the hill."

"I don't know why the policeman didn't offer to help you start it. He could tell you were having difficulties. I shall write and complain to his superior officer. As a prominent local businesswoman..."

"As manager of a photographer's shop. This shop. Number 12a, Archdeacon Street."

"Manageress, please. As a prominent local business woman..."

"Very prominent now you're wearing a bra."

"Do I dare wear it, do you think? What would they say?"

"Who? The policeman's superior officer?"

"Everyone."

"They'll just think you've got extremely large breasts. They'll be right."